


Gingerbread Men

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:20:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel is in the holiday spirit. Peter lends a hand. Or two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gingerbread Men

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://capn-mactastic.livejournal.com/profile)[**capn_mactastic**](http://capn-mactastic.livejournal.com/)'s Advent Calendar (and for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/mission_insane/profile)[**mission_insane**](http://community.livejournal.com/mission_insane/) prompt "Kitchen." We're playing by [Smut Stew](http://lana-fic-dump.livejournal.com/9900.html#cutid1) rules here. If you're not familiar: Gabriel (_whose thoughts are in italics_) and Sylar (**whose thoughts are bold**) share a body, and Peter shares a body with his split personality, who's dating Claude. Established Sylar/Peter/Gabriel. Questions?

  
"Gabriel?"

  
"Geez!" Gabriel jumped about two feet high, and only a quick burst of telekinesis from Peter saved the mixing bowl in his hands from tumbling to the ground.

  
"You're jumpy today." Peter plucked the bowl full of whatever it was--something beige and liquidy--out of the air and set it on the counter.

  
"What was that for?" Gabriel grumbled. With his glasses pushed up his nose, flour dusting the front of his apron, and an adorable pout coming on, he looked irresistible. Peter took the wooden spoon away from Gabriel and wrapped his arms around the watchmaker to pull him into a kiss.

  
"I forgive you," Gabriel said after a minute, when Peter had kissed the pout away.

  
"What are you doing, anyway?" Peter asked, waving an arm at the dishes and utensils covering every surface of the kitchen.

  
"None of your business," Gabriel muttered. He grabbed the mixing bowl from the counter, snatched the spoon from Peter's hand, and resumed stirring. "What are you doing here, anyway? I thought The Enemy was driving today."

  
"Apparently there was some trouble in paradise." Peter pushed aside a stack of measuring cups and hoisted himself onto the counter to sit.

  
"With Claude? Wait, I don't want to know." He leaned over to kiss Peter without missing a beat with his stirring. "His loss is my gain."

  
"Where's Sylar?"

  
"Why?" Gabriel asked sharply. "You'd rather he was here?"

  
"No, silly." Peter slid off the counter so he could press Gabriel against the fridge. "I want to know if he left you alone to do whatever this is, or if I can expect him to come barging in demanding his fair share."

  
**It's _all_ my fair share. **

  
_No, it's **my** turn._ Gabriel wrapped a hand around the back of Peter's neck and kissed him again to prove it. _You didn't want to help make cookies anyway._

  
"Mmm. You taste like sugar," Peter said.

  
"I had to test it, to make sure I made it right."

"Why won't you tell me what you're making?"

Gabriel muttered something indistinct.

  
"What?"

**He's making gingerbread men.**

Peter stared, open-mouthed.

"Don't laugh," Gabriel warned, raising his spoon menacingly.

Peter couldn't help the corners of his mouth quirking up, but he managed not to giggle. "You're really in the holiday spirit."

Gabriel might have been blushing: it was hard to tell. "It seemed like a nice thing to do."

**Nice and pointless. They sell cookies in stores, you know.**

"I think it's sweet," Peter assured him. "My mom never let me help with the Christmas baking."

"Yeah, me neither," Gabriel admitted.

  
"So, what's next?" Peter asked eagerly.

  
"Well...I'm just following the recipe, really." Gabriel picked up an old Betty Crocker cookbook--this one looked like it'd been published circa 1953--and consulted the open page. "I was just mixing the eggs. Now we're supposed to add vanilla."

  
Peter snatched up the bottle of vanilla extract and unscrewed the cap. "How much?"

  
"It says two tea--Peter!" Gabriel lunged forward to grab the bottle away from Peter and prevent him from dumping in two cups of the stuff. "What are you doing?"

  
"Helping! Vanilla tastes good."

  
**See? Peter doesn't need to follow the recipe exactly. It's okay to experiment a little.**

  
_That's what you said about the first batch, and look how **that** turned out. I want this to be perfect._

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Did I miss a fight?"

"Don't wanna talk about it," Gabriel said darkly. "Hand me the molasses."

Peter picked up the bottle. "How much?"

Gabriel just looked at him pointedly until he handed over the whole bottle so Gabriel could measure it out himself.

Peter leaned up behind him as he worked. He kissed the back of Gabriel's neck, and his hands slipped around his waist possessively. "How long do these things take?"

"Well, one batch is already in. They go for eight minutes."

**Down to three minutes now, by the way. **

"You're keeping track?" Peter asked, amused.

**Somebody has to, if we don't want them to burn.**

"I knew exactly how much time was left," Gabriel said haughtily.

"Well...Do you have time for this?" Peter let his hands drift down Gabriel's body to rub at the front of his pants. Gabriel sighed happily, and Peter ground his growing erection against the watchmaker's ass.

  
**Stop molesting him. He has to keep mixing.**

  
_I can keep mixing. _

  
To prove it, Gabriel kept stirring, in time with pressing his ass languidly back against Peter and rocking his hips forward against Peter's hands. Peter slipped one deft hand into Gabriel's boxers to cup his cock. "I don't think this was in the recipe."

  
**Peter, stop distracting him. You're putting the food in jeopardy. **

  
_Shut up and let us be. _

  
**Oh, I can definitely see why Angela never let him help. **

  
"I wasn't trying to get into her pants, though," Peter grumbled.

  
_Can we not talk mommy issues? It's kind of a turn off._

  
Peter spun Gabriel around and kissed him: a successful distraction.

  
_Okay. Turned on again._

  
The oven timer beeped. Gabriel shifted toward it, but Peter kept holding him, sliding his tongue past his lips.

  
**Cookies.**

  
Peter kept licking the sugar out of Gabriel's mouth.

  
**Cookies!**

  
Gabriel moaned and pressed his body against Peter, his hard cock begging for attention.

  
**COOKIES!**

  
"All right. Geez," Gabriel grumbled. He pulled out of Peter's arms and went rooting around in a nearby drawer, searching for oven mitts.

  
"I'll get it." Peter reaching into the oven, mittless, and pulled out two trays of piping hot, perfectly formed gingerbread men. He set them on the kitchen table and held up his burned hands, which were already healing.

  
**Nobody likes a show-off.**

  
"Peter!" Gabriel protested. "Now it smells like fried chicken in here."

  
"I'm just impatient," Peter said with a grin. He reached for Gabriel, and got a rap on the knuckles with a wooden spoon for his trouble. "Hey!"

  
"I have to get the next batch ready." Gabriel grabbed three small tubes from the counter and pressed them into Peter's hands. "Here. Wait until they cool."

  
"What is this?"

  
"Frosting. Red, green, and white. You can handle decorating, can't you?"

  
"Yes, I can handle it," Peter said with a smile. He liked it when Gabriel showed some backbone. He was never as forceful as Sylar, but sometimes Peter enjoyed provoking the gentler of his lover's two personalities into a huff.

  
Gabriel went about rolling out the dough and stamping out shapes with the cookie cutter while Peter surreptitiously froze the two trays of cookies so he didn't have to wait to frost them. He tried different variations of the green, red, and white on the little cookie men, making each one different until he found the design he liked the best. He was so absorbed that he didn't notice Gabriel sneaking up on him until his hands were around Peter's waist, pulling him onto the floor.

  
"Next batch is in. We've got eight minutes," Gabriel said.

  
"I'll take that as a challenge." Peter pinned the watchmaker to the ground with kisses while he tore at his pants, undoing the button and zipper one-handed. Gabriel helped by kicking off his own pants and boxers.

  
Both of them were already hard, and just the feeling of their dicks rubbing together caused Peter to shudder. He slid down Gabriel's body to fit his mouth over the head of Gabriel's cock.

  
Gabriel whimpered, spreading his legs wide open for Peter. He reached a hand out toward the counter, and a bottle of olive oil flew to his hand. Peter pulled his mouth off Gabriel's dick long enough to pour some oil on his right hand and slip it down between Gabriel's spread ass cheeks.

  
_Hurry. Need you. _

  
Gabriel was pressing his hips up, eager, so Peter gave him two fingers right away, slicking him up as he went back to licking up and down the length of Gabriel's cock. Gabriel squirmed and pressed down into Peter's hand._ More. Please more._

  
Peter loved the needy little squeaks Gabriel was making while he sucked him, but there were other sounds he made that Peter loved, too. Almost reluctantly, he let his mouth slide from Gabriel's throbbing erection. He positioned himself on his knees, and Gabriel immediately wrapped his legs around Peter's waist. _Now. Nownownownow. Hurryhuryhurryhurry. _

  
Peter rubbed his oil-slick hand quickly over his cock before pressing forward, stabbing in as far as he could on the first thrust.

  
Gabriel keened with pleasure, and his legs clamped harder around Peter's body. _Yes. Take me. Need me. Just like this. Every day like this._ Peter kissed a trail up Gabriel's neck, landing on his lips. "Love you," he whispered. Then he began to move, fucking Gabriel into the floor as Gabriel moaned and gasped a symphony of pleasure. Gabriel grabbed Peter's arm with one hand, and the other went to his dick, jerking it frantically as Peter began to speed up.

  
Across the room, the oven began to beep.

  
**Hurry, boys,** Sylar urged.

  
_Please, need, please,_ Gabriel begged.

  
Peter added his own hand to Gabriel's, both of them stroking him furiously. Gabriel squirmed and groaned, one sharp buck of his hips slamming him up into Peter, so deep that Peter began to lose the rhythm. His movements faltered as he began to come. They clung to each other as they both fell over the edge to the accompaniment of the oven timer's beeping.

  
Peter lay against Gabriel, panting, but they only had a moment of peace.

  
**Ehem. Don't tell me you're too fucked out to get the food out of the oven. Get up. **

  
"Shut up," Gabriel groaned. "Can't we just enjoy the moment?"

  
**No. **

  
With a sigh, Gabriel untangled himself from Peter, pulled his pants on, grabbed the oven mitts he'd dug out earlier, and rescued the cookies from burning.

  
Peter pulled his own pants up and watched as Gabriel put the new trays next to the ones he'd decorated.

  
"Hey, you did a pretty good job with these," Gabriel said as he admired them. "Thanks for helping. Guess I'm glad you were here after all."

  
**Why do all these gingerbread men have red lines across their heads?**


End file.
